


Honey if You Stay, I'll Be Forgiven

by purplesunsets



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More tags and characters to be added, Power Dynamics, Revenge, Satan Dream, Seven Deadly Sins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28194633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplesunsets/pseuds/purplesunsets
Summary: “I found an ID in my pocket.” Dream reveals a worn leather wallet from within his coat. “Apparently my name is Clay.”“That’s a dumb name.” George replies absentmindedly. He’s enthralled by Dream’s humanness—the beauty of his crooked teeth and freckles, and the way George can feel blood pulsing beneath his skin. It’s striking in ways that don’t rely on devilish charms.“Yeah. That’s what I get for falling in love with you, I guess.” Dream smiles but sadness lingers in his gaze.(Or, the one where Dream is Satan and falls in love with George and chaos ensues.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 153





	Honey if You Stay, I'll Be Forgiven

**Author's Note:**

> This is a working title. But I used to give all my fics halsey titles, so even this is a step up.

“You’re too good for me, you know that?” Dream smiles fondly and raises the teacup to his lips, though he doesn’t take a sip. Most of what he does is just for show.

“Aren’t most people?” George snorts. “You’re literally satan.”

“Humans are awful, horrible creatures.” Dream says quietly. “The ones I meet, at least.”

“Yeah?”

“Some of them make me seem like a saint.” Dream jokes.

“That wasn’t even funny. You’re such an idiot.” 

“You’re the idiot. I’m not the one that sold my soul to the devil.” Dream smirks.

“You just won’t let that go will you?” George groans.

“Never. You’re my most prized possession.” 

“Am I now?” George laughs. 

“Of course. I don’t get tea with just anyone.” Dream takes George’s hand across the table. “And I don’t usually mingle with the living either. You’re something special, George.” 

“So I’ve been told.” George stares at his own reflection on the surface of the tan liquid in his cup. He looks so normal, so plain in comparison to the otherworldly being before him.

“What’s on your mind?” 

“You look different today.” George says. 

“Is it bad?”

“No, not bad. Just different.” George answers. “You’re dressed a lot more casually than usual. I like it.”

Dream is wearing a black woolen turtleneck sweater tucked into smart black trousers, cinched at the waist with a grommet belt that shouldn’t look as sophisticated as it does. It’s vastly different compared to his usual silk ties, tuxedos and cloaks. The only thing about his appearance that really seems out of place for a busy cafe in London are the lush black wings rooted at his shoulder blades. But George knows that he’s the only one who can see Dream. It’s intimate.

“I’m glad.” Dream says easily. “You know that I look how you want me to, though. It’s beyond my control.”

“I know. I still like it though.” George grins. “Your face never changes.”

“What do I look like?” Dream asks impishly.

“I’ve told you before.”

“I know. I just like to hear it.”

“You look like you’re in your early twenties. You’re taller than me, but you’re like ninety percent legs.” George laughs playfully. 

“Yeah?” Dream already knows this, but every time George tells him, the same brand of poignant nostalgia comes over his features. George can only imagine how 

it feels to yearn to be human.

“You have pretty eyes. They’re completely black, like they don’t have whites. They remind me of the night sky sometimes.” George says contemplatively. “But sometimes they glow the same green as your flames.”

“My eyes don’t scare you?”

“You know they don’t.” George whispers softly. 

“What else?”

“You have the warmest smile. You feel safe.” 

“I shouldn’t. You should be scared of me.” Clay says dangerously.

“Probably.” George shrugs. “Can’t say I ever thought I’d be this smitten for _satan.”_

“Do you regret it? Giving me your soul?”

“No.” George answers immediately. He doesn’t have any doubts in his mind.

“You should. You’re not going to go to heaven. When you die, you’re stuck with me for the rest of eternity.” 

“I remember.” George smiles slightly. “You told me that when I die, I’m yours.”

“You’re mine already. Are you happy?” Dream asks, voice low and dangerous.

“You’ve done so much for me, how could I not be?” 

“Damn right.” Dream says proudly. “I’m glad to hear it.”

George thinks of the life which he has built: the success and wealth he has amassed, the friends he’s made over the years, how he’s never been happier. His soul is a small price to pay, especially since he’s gained a lover in return.

“Why me, though?”

“What do you mean?” Dream asks cautiously. 

“Why do you like me so much? I’m nothing special.” George rubs at the back of his neck. He’s just a kid who was desperate enough to make deals with the devil.

Dream sets down his cup and gives George a hard glare. “That’s not true.” He says firmly and George can _feel_ the sheer power radiating from Dream. His eyes are glowing—obsidian mingling with a tendrils of green fire.

“Why?” George sighs. “I just don’t get it.”

“After all this time, do you really not understand how dear you are to me? You’re so easy to love, George. You’re my angel.” Dream lifts his drink to his lips again, but when he sets it back down, it’s not a porcelain teacup but an ornate chalice. “I’ve never loved a mortal before, but you make me want to be good. It’s kind of annoying.”

“I don’t want you to be good, Dream.” George twists the rings on his fingers. “I like you more like this.”

“Then, I’d burn the world over for you.” Dream gestures grandly, green flames licking up his sleeves. Gingerly, George takes his hand. The flames don’t burn.

“I love you.” 

“I know.” Dream smirks and grabs George by the collar. He roughly tangles his fingers in George’s hair and leans close. “I love you, too.”

Briefly, George wonders how Dream has manipulated their image to the other customers in the coffee shop. Perhaps Dream appears as some sort of winged-plant, or even an oversized crow. George knows well that people will believe just about anything but the truth. 

“But sometimes.” Dream whispers lowly. “I think about what it would be like to hurt you. To see you bleed beneath my hands. To feel beneath your skin.”

George’s breath hitches as Dream’s long fingers wrap around his throat, nails digging into the soft spot behind his ear. His appearance shifts rapidly between states—one moment horned, the next, human. George’s eyes burn with each glimpse he catches of Dream’s true form. 

“What’s happening?” George asks nervously, and Dream’s grip on his neck seems to tighten incrementally.

“I like to hurt people, George.” Dream’s voice sounds warped, as though there are multiple people speaking at once from his mouth. 

George feels frozen to the spot, and watches helplessly as Dream fights to stay in his human form. Dream’s gaze is distant and deranged. 

“But I don’t like to hurt you.” Dream sounds oddly strained, but his expression is genuine.

“I trust you.” George says tenderly. Dream’s form flickers again and George knows that his time is up. “Do you have to go soon? It looks like it’s getting hard for you to stay here.” 

“I probably should.” Dream frowns. 

“I’ll see you soon.” George promises. And then Dream is gone, leaving behind only a bit of dark smoke in his wake.

—

The next time George meets Dream, it’s by mistake. Strangely, Dream is not alone. A young boy with curly blonde hair accompanies him. From a distance, they don’t stand out amongst the groups of people that crowd the park, but George can feel the power radiating from their forms even from a distance.

“Dream?” George says cautiously when he nears them.

“Hey, George.” Dream grins.

_“This_ is George?” The boy scoffs, as though George is disappointing to him.

George immediately doesn’t like him and feels annoyance burn beneath his skin. 

“Shut up, Pride.” Dream warns.

“Dream, who is this?” George gestures at the boy. “Is he your cronie or something?”

“Yes!” Pride announces before Dream can respond.

“No, he’s not my _cronie.”_ Clay rolls his eyes. “He’s one of the seven sins.”

“Seriously?” George glances apprehensively at Pride. He has terrible posture and is the furthest thing from impressive. “He doesn’t look it.” 

“I’m not sure how he looks to you, but I can assure you his true form is a lot different.” Clay says. “You probably got it already, but this is Pride.”

“I thought you guys were a myth or something.” George tells Pride. “You’re also way younger than I thought you’d be. What are you, twelve?”

“I’m hundreds of millennia old, you bitch.” Pride barks, waggling his thyrsus in George’s direction. “I could disintegrate you right now if I wanted to.”

Pride has a similar aura to Dream: otherworldly though not quite as powerful. It’s hard for George to take him seriously though, since he’s wearing cargo shorts and an ill-fitting red sleeved t-shirt. Unlike Dream’s lavish cloak and scythe, it’s far from intimidating. 

“I should’ve left you back in hell.” Dream grumbles. “I thought it would be nice to let you have your Pinocchio moment, get to feel like a real boy for a day.”

“I _am_ a real boy, look at me!” Pride exclaims. “I’m as real as they come, big man.”

“I apologize for him, George.” Dream sighs. “He’s just excited.”

“What are you guys doing here?” George asks, though he can’t help but feel jealous. Dream never visits earth if it’s not for him. George wonders if Dream has found another soul to take.

“Greed’s a singer. He makes songs about women.” Pride interrupts before Dream can respond. 

“What?” 

“If you say one more word, I’m not letting you out of hell again for a thousand years.” Dream snaps. 

Pride huffs through his nose and gives Dream the finger, but doesn’t say anything else. 

“Finally.” Dream mutters under his breath. “Pride wasn’t wrong. To put it straight, Greed is trying to be a pop star or some shit and now he’s hiding from me because he thinks I’m going to make him come back to hell.”

“Oh.” George answers dumbly, because what the fuck is his life. 

“He irritates me, so I don’t give a shit if he wants to stay up here. I just need him to stop fucking running. He has responsibilities to, like, inspire sin and shit.”

“Who needs Greed? You have me. I inspire _all_ the sin!” Pride interrupts. “I am the root of all evil!”

“You’re also annoying as shit.” Dream rolls his eyes.

“I am!” Pride replies happily.

“So, how were you guys planning to find Greed? Can’t you just summon him back to hell or something?” George asks.

“I wish.” Dream sighs and sits down on a park bench just off the main path. “He’s inhabiting a human body, which makes it more difficult.”

“Like that stupid movie you humans like! ‘Body-Snatchers,’ or whatever.” Pride supplies, rather unhelpfully.

“That’s enough, Pride.” Dream intones dryly. With a snap of his fingers, Pride vanishes into a puff of smoke. “I should’ve sent him back an hour ago.”

George takes a moment to absorb and work through what just happened. It doesn’t work, so he files this experience away for later with all the other unresolved shit on his plate. 

“Anyway, why can’t he just, un-inhabit the body then?” George frowns. “I don’t get what the problem is.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem, if he’d start cooperating.” Dream huffs. “Greed is good at hiding when he really wants something. So, as of now, the only thing I could do to get him back is kill the host.”

“Why haven’t you?” 

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually like to kill innocent people—only the scumbags. Plus, Greed would probably just find another body before I could get to him.”

“Do you know who the host is, at least?”

A small smile graces Dream’s features. “Wilbur Soot. All I have is a name, sadly, but tell me if you know anything.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” George snorts, because what are the fucking odds? “He performs at this dive-bar in London that I go to with my friends sometimes. He’ll probably be there this weekend.”

“Yeah, that sounds like his scene. Real pretentious indie shit bordering on gentrification.” Clay laughs and presses a kiss to George’s forehead. “I’ll meet you there, okay?”

“Goodbye, Dream.”

—

When George gets to the bar, Dream is already there. He’s sitting across from a man who’s wearing a well-fitted suit and a Rolex. From the back of his head emerge a pair of ram horns which curl around his ears. Smoke fills the air around the men, surrounding them with a fog of hazy warmth.

George approaches their table with full intent to say something cool, or philosophical. “Is that a blunt?” He blurts out immediately, because he’s never had much impulse control.

“It’s a Cuban cigar, motherfucker. I’m of refined tastes.” The man in the suit scoffs. 

“This is Gluttony, if you can’t tell.” Dream explains. “He’s a prickly bastard, but he’s harmless.”

“Fuck you.” Gluttony sneers but extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you?” George says hesitantly and reaches out.

“I’m sure it is.” Gluttony bellows. “Have a seat. You look like a fucking idiot standing there.”

George goes to sit in the chair besides Dream, but before he can, Dream grabs him by the waist so that George is sitting on his lap.

“Clearly, this must be your dick-warmer.” Gluttony bites seethingly.

George rolls his eyes and grabs a fistful of fries from the basket on the table.

“Watch yourself, Gluttony.” Dream answers pleasantly. “You know you’re already on thin ice.” 

“My apologies.” Gluttony grits out, as though it physically pains him. “What’s it’s name?”

_“His_ name is George.” Clay replies evenly. “You’re lucky I need you here to talk some sense into Greed.” 

Perhaps it’s just George’s imagination, but the bar seems more lively than usual. Servers are dancing between tables with trays piled high with drinks and food. Normally, the bar reeks of desperation, puke, and rat droppings. It’s a strange, but welcome, change. 

“Are you doing this?” George gestures widely.

“Doing what?” Gluttony smirks, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Inspiring indulgence? Bringing some life to this dump? I don’t know, what do you think, pretty boy?” 

“You’re an asshole.” George deadpans.

“Maybe. But I’m a fun one.” Gluttony laughs heartily. “Want a drink? How about some whiskey?” 

“I’m good thanks.” George says. Embarrassingly, he drove to the bar on his electric scooter and his balance is poor even when he’s sober.

“Yeah. You probably like bitch-ass drinks don’t you, like mimosas or some shit.” Gluttony scoffs and downs the rest of his glass. Instantaneously, whiskey refills it.

“When’s Greed supposed to get here anyway?” Dream asks, breath warm against the shell of George’s ear. 

“Shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes, that’s usually when Wilbur performs.” George points at the makeshift stage, which is little more than a dingy corner sectioned off with a few crates. “Look they’re already setting up.” 

“Perfect.” Dream grins, something sinister in his expression.

—

Wilbur puts on a good show. True to Pride’s words, his songs are indeed about women. It’s a strange thought, that a man performing in a seedy bar wearing such plain attire could possibly be a sin, much less Greed. But the crowd is passionate and raucous in their applause and the show seems endless, and George realizes that perhaps greed can crave more than just material. 

Greed croons to the mic gently, the way one might whisper in their lover's ear. A teasing, enticing smirk graces his features and his hair hangs low over his brow. There’s something mysterious about him that begs to be adored. 

“Attention whore.” Gluttony scoffs, but raises his glass at the end of each song nonetheless.

“Shouldn’t he be done by now?” George mutters under his breath. “His shows usually aren’t this long.”

“Time isn’t real, my dear.” Dream replies absentmindedly, attention focused on Greed. His eyes are glowing a more sinister green than George has ever known them to. 

Greed locks eyes with George and grins, as though he knows something George does not. It’s George’s only warning before everything fades to black.

—

“What happened?” George slurs. When he opens his eyes he realizes he must be on the ground. “Did I faint?”

“No.” Dream sighs. “Greed thought it would be _funny_ to inhabit your body.”

“It was funny.” Drawls a man with long pink hair and a pig mask, and George has to wonder if he hit his head on the way down. He’s wearing a crown and a long plush cloak. Either George hit head on the way down or all the weed he smoked in college is finally catching up with him. 

“No, Wrath. It was not funny. It was selfish, because all Greed does is take what others care about.” Dream says coldly. 

“Whatever.” The pig-man shrugs. “This guy deserved it, anyway. He’s the reason why Greed got out in the first place. If it weren’t for him distracting you, we wouldn’t be in the situation.”

“That’s enough.” Dream snarls, fire in his eyes. 

“Am I dead? Why is there a man in a pig costume?” George stares up at Dream desperately. The longer the conversation goes on, the more George is convinced that he’s actually gone off the deep end.

“Well, you see, I’m the Blood God—“

“Can you be quiet for once?” Dream snaps, cutting off the apparent god. “This is Wrath. He’s a sin like the others, and usually isn’t this annoying.”

“What’s with the pig get-up?” George wonders how bad of a decision it would be to call this man a furry.

“Wish I knew. Last time I asked he started ranting about Sun Tzu.” Dream huffs a laugh, however, Wrath seems largely unamused.

“I’d watch your back if I were you, Dream. You know what happened last time you spited me.” Wrath says before disappearing in a cloud of smoke. 

Dream rolls his eyes and Gluttony takes a swig from a bottle of vodka that appears in his hand. George can’t help but feel angry at Wrath for showing such blatant disrespect to Dream. 

“You’re mad.” Dream holds out a hand to George and pulls him to his feet. “That’s what Wrath is best at: turning everyone into little pissbabies.”

George cracks a smile. “Says you.” 

“If I weren’t so whipped, I’d incinerate you.” Dream replies casually.

“So, uh, where’s Greed?” George asks hesitantly, because he doesn’t want to be smited. 

The flame in Dream’s eyes dims to something cool and steely. “Don’t worry about it. After that stunt you won’t be seeing much of him.”

“You’re making him go back to hell?” George frowns. “I thought you said you weren’t going to.”

“He needs to learn that humans aren’t his playthings.” Dream sighs. “He also knows better than to mess with you.”

“It just seems unfair.” George says, though he’s not sure why he’s defending the guy. 

“He possessed you, George.”

“For, like, two seconds!”

“Say that again, but think about it this time.” Dream laughs and even Gluttony cracks a smile.

“Shut up.” 

“Until next time, George.” Dream smirks and vanishes with Gluttony before George’s eyes.

Slowly, the dive bar fades back to normal and George is surrounded by leering men who reek of alcohol and despair. 

—

“George?” A low voice hisses from outside the window.

George has been awake for thirty five hours, so he’s not sure if it’s just his brain inventing the noise. Not unlike listening to loud music and feeling like someone is calling your name. On his computer screen, a creeper explodes, the noise bringing his focus back to the game. But then, a few minutes later, George hears it again, but louder this time. 

Maybe he’s incredibly stupid, but he opens up his curtains and unclocks the window. He sticks his head outside and squints into the darkness as his eyes slowly adjust. A man in tattered clothes and without shoes lays in the dirt. He has sandy blond hair and seems at least ten pounds underweight. 

George is ready to lock his window and call the police when the man turns to face him, green eyes piercing and unmistakable.

“Dream?” George gasps.

“In the flesh.” Dream manages a weak laugh that is a wheeze more than anything.

“What the hell happened to you?” George asks cautiously.

Dream must take this as an invitation to come inside, because he scampers through the window before George can even react. 

“I’ve been forsaken.” Dream answers cynically and staggers over to sit on George’s bed, feeble in his gait. “I’m human.”

George sits beside him and gently takes his hand. His palms are calloused and his fingers are cold. It makes George want to wrap Dream in a blanket and hold him close.

“I found an ID in my pocket.” Dream reveals a worn leather wallet from within his coat. “Apparently my name is Clay.” 

“That’s a dumb name.” George replies absentmindedly. He’s enthralled by Dream’s humanness—the beauty of his crooked teeth and freckles, and the way George can feel blood pulsing beneath his skin. It’s striking in ways that don’t rely on devilish charms. 

“Yeah. That’s what I get for falling in love with you, I guess.” Dream smiles but sadness lingers in his gaze.

“With me?” George echoes. “What do I have to do with this?”

“Greed turned them against me. He thought it was hypocritical that I was interfering with his earthy endeavors, while carelessly spending time with a mortal.” Dream sighs. “And he was right. It’s not fair that I make them stay in hell while roaming freely.”

“I’m sorry.” George mumbles softly.

“I’d choose you a thousand times over. You should know that by now.” Dream says, and with tender hands, takes George’s face in his hands. “I love you, George.”

“I love you, too.” George answers and Dream presses his lips to George’s forehead. 

“I know.” Dream murmurs but not unkindly.

“Is this your punishment?” George wonders.

“Of sorts. The big guy didn’t like it.”

“The big guy.” George deadpans. “As in God?”

Dream laughs bitterly. “Don’t be so naive. God isn’t real.”

“Oh.” George says dumbly. “A lot to unpack there.” 

“I’m sure.” Clay replies, but doesn’t explain who ‘the bug guy’ is. George knows better than to ask.

“Is this permanent?” 

“Kind of. It could be.” Clay mutters cryptically. “But I can’t stay here. I need to get back.”

“How?” George swallows nervously.

“That’s where you come in.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I’m using Dream’s persona name which is new for me. Glutton Schlatt is kinda iconic ngl
> 
> I have a two works that I’m thinking of posting soon (in addition to updating current wips). One of them is a dnf vampire au and the other one is very disturbing LMAO. I’m seriously not sure if I can post it. It’s based off of the creepypasta the Russian Sleeping Experiment (very scary and horrifying, if you haven’t already read it, please don’t go out of your way to). However, I really want to further pursue the horror genre. So yeah haha
> 
> I hope everyone is staying warm this winter and is being kind to themselves. I love you all :)
> 
> (Come say hi! My twitter is @porpolsunsets)


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